


(life) Is

by drvology



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, Messy Boys, who are in such messy love, with messy hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 17:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12869316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: Life is a bunch of days with a bunch of people and a bunch of conversations that mean something if you try.





	(life) Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riyku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riyku/gifts).



> Last I knew, the help Puerto Rico auction raised over $19,000 in pledged donations for ConPRmetidos. WOW <3 Good work, fandom. This story is for riychu, who generously tossed in a second 'winning' bid for a story from me. I hope it appeals to your messy heart, m'dear.

[ a predrink at eva's ]

Eva makes room on the coffee table for a fresh round of beers, empties crowding precariously into the corners and threatening to tumble to the floor.

She plucks a live one from the center, falls back onto the couch, and pops it open with a wet _scricch_. "Okay, one truth one lie. Even's turn."

Even opens a beer for Isak and holds it until Isak takes it with a small nod. He waits until Isak has a mouthful and then throws up his arms and grins.

"Eurovision!" he yells, after waiting to say that all night.

"What?" "Oh my god but it's so cheesy!" "Ugh you huge gay of course you do."

It's unclear who said what. Maybe everyone. Even doesn't care.

"That's it. My truth!" He puffs out his chest and thumps it. "I plan to go to Eurovision."

Isak gives him a _look_ —he knows it intimately. The downturned mouth, the adorable scowl, the wash of color, white first and then wary pink. The aggravation makes him so pleased.

"What? Fucking _Eurovision_?" Isak grunts a short, disgusted noise.

Even picks up the undercurrent of affection. Doesn't miss how Isak's sock-foot wraps around his ankle. Soaks in everyone's attention and the intentional lack from Isak.

Isak widens his eyes at Eva and gags. She laughs and darts a meaningful glance in Jonas' direction, and they share a moment. As in—ugh our terrible boyfriends—and Even preens and has to shift sideways to relieve sudden pressure at his groin because heck yeah I'm his boyfriend.

"This man I have burdened myself with." Isak shakes his head sadly and makes a show of drowning the words, the ridiculous sorrow, the false shame, with his beer.

Even hears _this man I'll stay with forever_ and his grin widens so far it hurts, aches, makes him bubble up over the edges with laughter. He lets his arms fall, lowering one around Isak's shoulders, kisses Isak's blush-hot cheek.

"Okaaaaay." Jonas eyebrows do an impressive dance of amusement and disbelief. He gives Even a long sideeye. "Guess this means you're going to Eurovision, Isak. Godspeed. Best hope for survival is the host city is at least somewhere cool."

Isak pulls up his hood and ducks back into it. He tugs the strings and pretends to evade Even's attempts to haul him closer.

"I think that's amazing! I'll go with you. It looks like such fun." Vilde grins and accepts Even's high five. "Maybe it'll be Paris!"

"France never wins. France never will win." Sana crosses her arms. "I vote for Belgium."

"So long as it's not Russia," Vilde says decisively, and that Sana has no reason to correct. "Okay then, what's the lie?"

Even's pushing his nose past the edge of Isak's hood, but at her question he stills. He can't just flirty kiss Isak again. Can't tease. His grin fades and he clears his throat, curls his arm in and moves his hand until his fingers press to the pulse point in Isak's neck.

"That the most epic love stories end in tragedy." Even licks his lips and pauses.

He so easily admitted Eurovision, enjoyed their laughter and mockery but this. This cuts through his center, opened up so light catches and fills all the shadows, full exposure. Like a raw nerve, like finding someone reading the first and last page of his diary, like a freefall. Because this is really the truth.

"I told that lie once. I convinced myself to believe it too." Isak's heartbeat beneath Even's finger-press skips. Even huffs and tosses his empty beer can, punctuating, "Complete bullshit. The most epic love stories end with ninety-year-olds doddering around their city, holding hands, talking about their day and their great-grandkids, and falling asleep together one night and never waking up again so they're never without the other."

He doesn't mean to sound harsh or so serious but the words are almost strangled. He laughs pitifully to lighten the tone but it comes out funny. Heavy. Silence follows and Even drinks half his beer.

Isak doesn't react and he's cursing his impulsive stupidity to say- share- extend this here. Among and at the mercy of everyone else. At all.

"That's also amazing." Vilde smiles. "I'll go with you there too." She snuggles into Magnus. "Well, you know."

Magnus nods and raises his beer in salute and Even forces a smile.

More quiet minutes tick agonizingly by until Isak's breath catches and he untangles from Even, sits forward.

Even lets his arm fall away, stares at his open palm on the chair seat they crammed together so comfortably to fill. Imagines the words he'd write in that imaginary diary are scrawled there, tiny perfect cursive, beginning and ending in Isak and heart-shaped. He makes a fist and closes his eyes.

"Strictly Ballroom is one of my favorite movies."

Everyone groans because it's a nothing truth, so safe, a movie they probably don't know enough about to judge and give him crap about.

But now Even's heartbeat skips. Stops. Thunders back to life.

It's a truth in code, a cipher only for him, and he also hears how Isak tracked the movie down, watched it, took it sincerely to heart. A happily ever after movie, forever and ever lives better because you're in it because I found you, have you.

He warms in rippling waves, from his solar plexus out, gut tremoring as his lips tingle and vibrations dance across his skin. He shifts his hold to Isak's neck and pulls, and Isak meets him, tilted up open-mouthed, for a kiss. Isak's hat dislodges and Even gets his fingers in those curls, that soft tangle, licks the impossibly yes-also-pleased curving bow of Isak's mouth—shares the fear and relief and gladness of their truths.

Even grins too, and Isak is nearly straddling lap before they manage to remember there's an audience.

That audience is hooting and laughing as Chris sings _Love Is In The Air_.

Even's phone buzzes—Magnus sent a picture of them kissing and it's almost obscene. It's gorgeous. It's everything. Like the look still in Isak's eyes as they lean barely apart to catch their breath, and then the sparkle in Isak's gaze when they stare at the picture together. He bites Isak's jaw and takes another picture, arm wrapped under Isak's shoulder, a third with them still breathless, pink all over for reasons way better than wariness, grinning like fools.

Even posts all four to his Insta, covered in heart-shaped stickers.

"And the lie?" Sana asks.

"I'm not gay—I'm only a little gay." Isak laughs and blushes happily, chews on his lips, and slides to sit in the vee of Even's legs.

Jonas' laughter is loudest at that, and Mahdi reaches over to playfully jostle Isak—we all knew bro we fucking knew.

Eva says it's Magnus' turn through her giggles but Even doesn't hear the answers. He's got his hands full of Isak—palms filled with heat and expanding ribs and steady heartbeat burning the tiny perfect cursive tiny perfect words and heart-shapes to his soul—and his senses buried in the nape of Isak's neck.

Isak squeezes Even's thigh, then covers his hand covering Isak's heart, settles back against him. A perfect fit.

 

[ walking home from the coffee shop ]

Even clouds the window with his breath, draws a heart, steps back and nods.

Isak huffs—but in yanking him to get moving takes his hand and doesn't let go so there's a big win—and they fall into step on the busy sidewalk. They discuss their days and stop for groceries and Even delights in the mundanity, the routine.

In sight of their apartment building but blocks yet to go a thought swirls though him, sparked by leaving the coffee shop, Isak's huffy rolling shy away from him. He tries to let go as quickly, loosened on the sharp cold wind, but it roots down instead.

"So. Almost a year ago I went crazy." Even purses his lips and regrets every word and the tensing of Isak's fingers threaded with his, but it's said, out and too late to change.

"Wow. Yeah." Isak turns to him. "It has been that long. Doesn't seem like it—but seems like years."

Isak tucks his chin into his scarf and Even is desperate to see his eyes. Then Isak laughs, tugs Even's hand, walks so they bounce into, off of, each other.

"A year ago I got my first kiss."

It's said no-big-deal, as if this is a continuing discussion, like Even hasn't blundered over what's still an obstacle for them—muted but looming in their everyday, his mind, the rest of their lives—and he doesn't quite get it.

"What?" Even says, long and drawn out. His upset shuffles to a different place in his head as amused incredulity bursts forth. "No, no way, not your first. And only a year ago?" His breath hitches. "Wait—with who?"

"Uh, you." Isak looks at him like maybe he is crazy. "Duh."

Even halts, tightens his hand so Isak has to stop too, pulls so Isak has no choice but to let go or swing around and face him.

Isak swings around and faces him.

"What?" is all Even can say, the repeat short and breathy.

Isak just does that little eyebrow and shoulder shrug that melts Even's insides and tries to get them walking again.

"No, really. Tell me." Even considers it. "Is it first because I was the first boy you kissed?"

That he understands. It thrills him—stabs hot and possessive right to his core—it's the same for him.

"Nah." Isak does a broader eyebrow and shoulder shrug.

Not the same? Seems impossible

"I mean, you were—"

rescuing Even's brain from a clanging of too many questions

"—but not that,"

the world starts to upend again

"…my first kiss with someone I love."

and Even catapults right off the edge and vaults into the stars.

Something thuds, cracks, and Isak grumbles. Next Even is aware, Isak is peeling away from him, his greedy kiss he can't remember starting, prying free, laughing and staying his grabby hands.

"Just a second." Isak crouches, one hand in Even's for balance, and pokes into one of their reusable shopping bags, apparently fallen onto the sidewalk. He holds up the jar of creamed honey. "It cracked. We can just put it in the empty one, yeah?"

Even has his other hand on Isak's shoulder because he can't stand not to touch—still be touching, touch me back—and he nods dumbly, not quite with it to know what answer to whatever Isak just asked.

Isak likes the honey on his toast. So does Even, but he likes it best in the kisses he steals between toast bites standing in the kitchen rushing to make it to school and work on time because they fucked around in bed too long.

"Yeah," Even at last croaks. "That will work. Always my genius," he adds, some of his capacity returning.

But he can't feel his toes and his nose is numb and tingles cascade down his spine. He'd say he's just gotten cold, out here in the winter with night falling down around them, but he knows better.

He helps Isak gather their escaped groceries, hauls Isak to stand, kisses the tip of Isak's also cold nose. He grins and Isak grins and they've never let go of each other's hand.

They arrive at their building and Even simply basks, watches. Isak in the yellow-blue glow of the big outside lights, digging his key from a pocket to swipe the magnetic fob, shifting his arm to open the door and pull Even inside, up the short stairs through the lobby, check their mail, in the elevator for stolen kisses, and repeat at their apartment door, key snicking tumblers loose with such satisfying certainty and promise in the lock.

Even turns on the radio and hums along as he puts the groceries away, hums with pleasure and besotted things, hums the sound of saying Isak's name on refrain in his mind. He isn't bothered when Isak grumps at him about his boots melting snow onto the floor and doesn't laugh at Isak's annoyance. He toes out of them, lets Isak take his coat and scarves and outer hoodie, spoons the creamed honey into the old, not cracked, jar.

Isak returns, pops onto his toes and kisses Even quick and sweet, then cleans the spoon in his mouth as he puts the kettle on, and Even can't imagine more to want.

 

[ a cabin with pretty views of the lake still iced over ]

Isak lights candles and leaves the bedside lamp on. His palms sweat and his skin itches but this is gonna happen.

"Okay!" he calls.

"Oh," Even says as he enters the bedroom. His gaze sweeps from the candles to the unmade bed to Isak, kneeling in the middle of it. "Wow."

"Look at this," Isak says, and has to say it again. Sitting here naked is apparently a distraction—one he's pleased to indulge in a moment of smugness about—but he wants Even to see before they get started.

They rented a cabin for the long weekend and it's their first night here. After Isak dumped their bags in the bedroom he shut the door and wouldn't let Even in until now. Even made dinner, they went on a hike around the lake, and talking soon turned into making out on the plush rug beside the fire. Isak almost forgot about his surprise, Even nearly fucked up into him before he groaned and rolled away and begged Even to give him a minute.

 "Look," Isak says again, and Even turns to follow what he's pointing at.

The wide closet has mirrored doors, and Even stares back at him in the reflection, hot flush rushing from the deep-cut vee of Even's hips, spreading a wildfire of pink and tingling flesh up Even's chest to settle a dark wanting color in his cheeks and eyes.

Even's mouth forms words he doesn't say and he staggers, leg pressing against the bed for balance. He licks his lips and his breastbone lifts, lifts, so high in anticipation, pulse and eyelashes fluttering with his stuttered breath.

Isak hasn't let Even film them doing—this. He doesn't know if he ever will. It's private and special and also he's just not there yet. Even asked once and hadn't again, not pushy about it, but clearly interested and horny at the mere idea.

The mirrors gave Isak a different idea. A proxy. A way to be their own audience without surrendering to Even's phone or camera—to losing Even behind a lens.

Even doesn't have to be told anything. He moves awkwardly, stop-starting the wrong direction, because it's in the mirror in reverse and he won't look away. Isak does, clasps Even's arm, guides him in.

They try kissing and it doesn't quite work, and it's hot and incredible. Even climbs behind him and Isak's back arches in immediate, needy response. He starts out of his skin as he watches Even reach for him before the touch lands, as Even's reverent hands dust his shoulders, his spine, the jut of his hips, as Even watches him watching.

"God, holy fuck," Isak groans, plants his palms on the bed and opens his legs wider in invitation and appeal. He's already on edge and this is so not going to last long.

Even maneuvers him—Isak follows Even's hands while following their movements in the mirror—presses his head down and lifts his hips higher. He's prepped and so ready and Even slides into him in one long, aching push, tilting Isak more and more so the entry is visible in their reflection. Even is perfect—long and just wide enough and makes Isak feel every inch so full so perfectly full—a perfect fit, those deep-cut hips flush against his ass.

Isak's cheek is flat on the bed and his heart is in his throat and Even stills, trembles, holds there while he devotedly holds Isak's gaze.

It's too much way too soon and not nearly enough. Isak starts rocking on his knees, fucking himself on Even, and he manages a smirk as he tightens on a withdraw so Even's eyes go wide and Even's fingers bite into his sides and Even gasps.

He can't look away as Even answers his teasing and starts rutting hard, rife with agonizing want and roiling impatience, buzzed like they're on something. Even's feverish gaze darts everywhere—framing shots and tableaus and moments—gets caught in Isak's eyes.

Isak shoots a hand out and braces it against the footboard. He chokes and groans and his knees slide farther apart. He sees the heavy bounce and hang of his cock and shadow of his balls as Even drives into him, almost can't believe he's staring at that, licks his lips because Even's followed his stare and starts pounding harder. Isak jacks himself, fast and desperate and so close, and it doesn't take Even's twisty-hard strokes to finish him, just Even watching him work with an intensity that coats him, soaks through his insides, turns his center molten and weak and then a sudden-rush-gone.

Even pushes him facedown in the blanket, equally desperate, finishing moments after. Isak sucks wind, half-turns to let Even's arms circle around him, and things go fuzzy for a while.

He blinks into the mirror and meets Even's smile, Even's cheek propped on his shoulder. He watches Even kiss patterns on his skin, checking on him every few, sees the loss and tenderness and sparking want as Even pulls out.

"You're amazing—that was amazing." Even nuzzles Isak's neck and wraps him up in a close embrace. "We're so good."

Isak mutters agreement and snuggles closer in.

They sleep, able to do nothing more than tangle together and murmur nonsense whispers and get a blanket over them. Later he opens his eyes, Even smiling in wait, and they roll inward together and kiss, building to another round.

Most of the weekend is spent fucking in front of the mirror. Even lying down, Isak riding him. Even giving Isak a blowjob. Isak rimming Even and at last seeing the faces Even makes to match the noises while he does his so-good-dirty work. They get better at lasting longer, change positions to better angles, make better use of the padded bench at the end of the bed.

When they can pry themselves apart, try to take advantage of more than the huge bed and big mirrors in this long weekend of solitude, Even sings while making dinner, and they talk about everything while gathering kindling and skipping stones, and they kiss to distraction while working to plan their next big trip.

They pack, share a final kiss in the mirror, turning in place to watch. Leave with reluctance, mostly not ready to leave the cozy nest they created—heartened they're returning to the cozy nest they've made a home of at their apartment.

Even grins at him with secret heat from the seat across from his on the train the whole ride home.

Isak still isn't ready to film anything, but at least he understands the appeal now. And he has already agreed to Even's suggestion they get another mirror for the wall opposite the bed.

 

[ kinda defeated and curled up to hide ]

"Even?"

Isak stands hands on hips in loose sweats and a floppy t-shirt, blocking the tv Even's forgotten about, the game menu looping on repeat.

"Hi." Even blinks and focuses, smiles. He thinks to scoot over and make room but his movements are jerky and useless. "I'm glad you're home," he adds after too much silence and feels awkward about it.

"Hi." Isak leans down and kisses Even's forehead, then he crouches, armpits hooked on the mattress edge, chin propped on a fist. "What's going on?" He extends his other hand.

Even takes it, shock of solidity and realness that surrounds him like a mantle at their touch. Grounds him, reminds him, lets him take the first deep breath he's had all day.

"Nothing." Even shakes his head. "I'm okay. I'm just—tired."

"Tired happens." Isak squeezes Even's hand. "But not more?" He doesn't accuse but he's not convinced.

"It's fine, really." Even's laugh is small and noiseless when Isak arches an eyebrow. "Hey, I could just be taking a nap after a long day of making masterpieces in foam art—" he bites his lip and sighs. It is more. "Okay, what gave me away?"

Isak smiles, tenderly traces the bulky rim of Even's hoodie forming a protective halo around his face, sweeps a gentle fingertip down the line of Even's nose. He counts Even's layers—a second, tighter-fitting hoodie, a big knitted scarf layered over a thinner so-soft flannel one Even coopted from Isak because it smells like Isak, overshirt and long-sleeved shirt and t-shirt, two pair of socks—and then rests back onto his heels.

"I just noticed…" Isak tilts his head and thinks something over. "It's just you hide in layers when you're sad or upset or unsure. Or exhausted from those things. And I thought maybe you had more than an exhausting day of creating foam art."

"Oh." No one ever noticed that before. It's true and there's no reason to deny it—Isak would know his lies anyway. Even makes himself hold Isak's gaze. "I got a little… disconnected at work, so they sent me home early."

The worry line appears between Isak's eyebrows and Even laughs. His cold and disconnect it already cracking open, falling away, really nothing too terrible to begin with. Having Isak, this life with Isak, being Isak's sees to that.

"There's no reason why or anyone you gotta go beat up. It's just, you've had finals, and I haven't seen you much because you're so importantly busy studying with Sana, and doing so good, as you should be. But that means I haven't slept well, which leads to the floaty, and yeah." He bobs his head back and forth, gets his other hand free from his layers to tangle with Isak's. "It's not your fault. I'm not in trouble at work, I did for real nap, and it did for real help. Even if it's a day when the layers feel good."

He can tell Isak believes him which is a relief—he's not up to trying to make more sense of it than that, and it's so good to be heard and believed—but he makes a pained noise when Isak stands and walks away.

Isak returns carrying a plate, drags their crate-table closer to the bed, sets some snacks down, then makes another trip for the flavored seltzer water Even is currently involved in a deep infatuation with. He reaches under the bed and tugs out a red hoodie, zips into it, prods and shoves and gets all the blankets free from their knot near Even's feet, and then keeps prodding and shoving until he's between Even and the wall corner. Wraps Even all up, cocoons them in every blanket, chooses the documentary Even's been pestering them to watch and snuggles down with a long exhale.

"I'm tired too. And my finals are all done."

"Good."

"Very good." Isak ups the volume a few notches and eats a handful of dried bilberries.

Even breathes out, warm for the first time today, turns onto his side so he's cradled in Isak's safety and scent and everything. Whatever that remained of Even's bad day releases and he yawns, smiles into the scarves Isak didn't scoff at or try to unwind, and grabs a seltzer.

 

[ at the kollektiv because there's a party ]

Isak spins away from Even dramatically, grins and waggles his eyebrows along the extended length of their arms, coils back in. They kiss and grind and Even likes this song, but he can't hear it over the sound of Isak's breathy gasps and hot fingertips slipping under his shirt, rasping against his skin.

Even should probably care about the hard-on he's sporting and how he's about to come from rubbing it on Isak's thigh but nope. He doesn't. Isak's grip tightens on his hips, presses them nearer, and caring about anything but this is the last thing Even can do.

"Ugh you two, break it up!" Noora crashes into them, squeezes between, gives Even big-eyes when her butt gets way too close to that certain something Even is now painfully worried about. She laughs, jabs an elbow in his side, shimmies her shoulders and pushes, then grabs Isak's shoulders and leads them away in a false-waltz around the crowded room.

Even coughs, has to adjust himself, then he finds an unopened beer and settles on the couch, watches Isak and Noora and can't hate her for a minute of it.

When the song ends Isak finds him, drops beside in a whoosh of breath, sweaty and smiling and gorgeous. Even puts his back to the armrest, tilts his hips and gathers Isak into the curve of his body, thinks he could get that grind going again if he tried.

It wouldn't take much.

"Having fun?"

"Hm?" Isak's let his head fall back and he rolls it to look at Even. After a bit he nods. "Yeah! Are you?"

"Yeah." Even is.

He was invited, and invited to invite 'his friends too,' and it's good here, everything finally known, and everything known comfortable and accepted.

Even lightly tickles Isak's neck, traces the shell of Isak's ear, drags a finger though the damp on Isak's brow. He draws a heart, puts an _E_ inside, smiles all big and silly when Isak catches his hand and bites his fingertips.

"When's the last time you were this… glad?" He decides on glad because it's an underrated word.

Isak has an instant answer—Even can see it fire in Isak's eyes—but he doesn't say it right away.

"What? Tell me." Even pokes at Isak, already impatient. "Don't you want to?"

He's not exactly apprehensive about that, but Isak's obvious pause gives him a little bit of a pause, all of a sudden.

"I'm trying to figure out how to put it." Isak fiddles with the hem of Even's shirt and won't look up.

"Ooooh—is it last night when- we- _you know_ ," Even's voice lowers and lowers and slows until he's whispering the last part. It isn't that, but it gives Isak more time and relaxes his suddenly uncertain nerves.

Isak makes a put-upon sound but it's half-strangled with undercurrents Even can feel thrumming in his own blood.

"Not that, but yes of course that." Isak tugs Even's shirt and then boosts up from his slouch. He rolls his eyes but the pink on his cheeks isn't from dancing anymore. "I was thinking about that day a few weeks ago when Magnus had to come over."

"Really?" Even believes it but he's baffled. He doesn't remember much from then but he does know what happened.

He had a bad episode. Short-lived but bad. He'd felt it building, braved telling Isak, was rewarded with trust and kisses and days of working together to stave it off. It still caught up with him, stole his breath and numbed his senses and robbed his convictions that it just didn't have to happen anymore, but telling Isak is why it was short-lived.

After years of coping in the kinda broken ways he figured out on his own, and spending weeks hungover after the episodes finally spent, short-lived was awesome.

Even was so lucky to have Isak's patience and care, to have someone to turn to and trust and say, I'm falling apart a little here sorry I'm sorry hah what a burden but please hold on while I crumble. For that _he_ was glad, but he didn't see it the other way around. Nope.

Isak taps Even's nose, shatters his pensive spiral, smiles them into a kiss.

"You texted me. You said you needed me. You asked for help." Isak basically beams and the evident pride and happiness curls Even's toes. "Just like I said you could and promised would be no big deal, something you should do. So I left school, and Magnus offered to help because I'm still not like, an expert, and when we got home you let us take care of you." Isak kisses Even again. "So yeah, I was glad."

"Put it that way…" Even wags an eyebrow, stays light, drags Isak in for a third kiss. He says it like a tease but he means it—he gets it—and Isak knows he does.

He has to kiss Isak because words are too big, can't convey, useless on his tongue as meaningless sounds compared to what this feels like. Has to kiss because it covers his rush of weird giddy radiant tears. Kisses because he's so glad, too.

Even becomes aware of bass and Isak's hands thumping in his chest.

Isak twists to a stand, keeps hold of Even's wrists. "C'mon!" he yells as the music swells, and pulls Even to the center of the room.

Like the revelation of that—of all things—for Isak to be glad about isn't huge and amazing and would bring Even to his knees if he thinks about it too much. Like there isn't so much better Isak should demand for Even to offer and make up for it. Like it's just that simple.

Isak slots into Even, arms and legs and faces turned in together, and the music slithers around them as they share bodyheat and lazy kisses and writhe. Even closes his eyes and Isak's hand steals into his hair as the other slides down to fit tucked into his waistband.

Thing is, he realizes, it is that simple. He can ask and doesn't have to grovel because Isak would never want his groveling. He'd never want it either, not to be made to and never to force Isak into—that wasn't as straightforward to reach but it hits with stunning clarity, breaks over him, a wave a wash a dance in Isak's arms.

Huge and amazing yeah, but it's also just who they are, which is more than huge and amazing.

It's real.

Even opens his eyes and Isak grins at him. He nods and spins them and grins back.


End file.
